


A Tale of Time Travelling and Forbidden Romance Between Very Sad Girls

by EzzyAlpha



Category: Homestuck
Genre: 1910s, Alternate Universe, Ancestor-Descendant Incest, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Incest, Magic Time Travel, Really. - Freeform, Snarky narration, Time Travel, Timeless romance, Timey-Wimey, no
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-09
Updated: 2013-07-09
Packaged: 2017-12-18 06:14:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/876553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EzzyAlpha/pseuds/EzzyAlpha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The intensively melodramatic story of how Roxy Lalonde, young alcoholic, falls in love with her ancestor, one Ms. Rose Lalonde, through a hole in the ground that somehow breaches throughout time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Tale of Time Travelling and Forbidden Romance Between Very Sad Girls

If you came in here expecting a pretty love story between two charming young women, I suggest you leave now, because this story is neither pretty nor charming. However, it is about two young women in love, who happen to be related, and also in two different time periods.

Our story begins, not with either of these two young women, but with not-so-young Mr. Crocker. See, Mr. Crocker came from a very affluent family, who owned a very old house on a very steep hill. However, that house soon proved to be a pain in the ass, and Mr. Crocker enlisted the help of his daughter, Jane Crocker, to clean out the place before they sold it. Jane Crocker, being sharp witted, decided to enlist the help of her friends; after all, even if they didn’t help all that much, work was so much easier with friends. That was what was in Jane Crocker’s mind at least. Everyone knows having friends around when you’re handling delicate antiques on a limited time schedule is horrible and a recipe for disaster, especially when your friends consist of two horny boys and an alcoholic.

While Jake English and Dirk Strider were rather easy to convince, Roxy Lalonde had better things to do, such as lying on the floor of her bedroom drinking and crying. So, of course, Jane Crocker had to bring on the bomb: One of Roxy’s ancestors had lived in that house, as a tutor to the family’s children.

That wasn’t enough to coax Roxy out of her little hole. The promise of a two-liter of vodka and cookies, however, was.

Roxy was lead through the house, along with the two boys, by Jane, until they reached the tutor’s room, left untouched after her mysterious disappearance. Roxy was left alone to clean it. She sat on the bed, staring around. So that was it, she thought.

“So this is it.” she whispered. The room made no signs of having heard her.

She didn’t know much about this ancestor of hers, her...great-great-great grandmother? Roxy wasn’t sure how many great there were supposed to be. She knew she had a child very early, and had been shipped off to tutor the children of the family, only to disappear after a few years.

Another disappointment in the long line of disappointments that was the Lalonde line, thought Roxy. That she had managed to go 18 years without getting knocked up or worse was surprising.  She figured she might as well clean, so she got up and started to go through her ancestor’s things. Idly running her fingers through the spines of the books on the shelf, she wondered if she could take some things home with her. She had to ask Jane...

Roxy paused. Those were a lot of books. Two full rather big shelves, filled with every kind of book you would expect to find in an old decrepit house. Informative books and novels and old sketchbooks stored away, in surprisingly good condition given their age. She removed one of the sketchbooks from the shelf, flipping through the pages. Her head tilted to the side as she inspected the drawing, fingers hovering the page, afraid to ruin it. A pencil sketch of a slender young woman. While I wish I could say the art had been spared by time, the paper was yellow and the graphite faded, the corners of the page nibbled on by whatever vermin passed by. There were some mysterious water damage, like droplets that had fallen on it. Roxy continued to flip through the pages. Amongst the random scenes of flora and fauna (some of them particularly terrifying) there were more portraits of the young woman. One that caught Roxy’s attention was a shot of the lady bent over a piece of cloth, sewing, She briefly wondered what the woman had meant to her ancestor, if her ancestor was the one to draw this.

Of course, if it had been her ancestor to draw that, though Roxy wouldn’t be sure of that for a while. The young tutor was quite the artist, skills honed by years of practice and studying. But that is unimportant, and will not be important for a few chapters.

Roxy walked away from the shelves for a moment, and looked around. The place was a mess, and Roxy couldn’t help but picture it as she thought it would have been, all those years ago, clean and proper. Little did she know, that room had always been a mess. She sighed. She didn’t want to get rid of anything; there was too much history between these walls. Also, it would be way too much trouble. Not even the promises of Jane’s famous snickerdoodles made this worth it.

Roxy sat on the bed again, lying down. Maybe if she fell asleep, Jane would feel sorry for her.

Her head hit something unexpected. it was somewhat like reaching into a bowl of candy expecting chocolate and getting raisins. She got up, rubbing her head and looked under the pillow.

Every good love story needs a good cliche to get started, and there aren’t many things as perfectly trite as a diary under a pillow. Roxy picked up the diary, a particularly diary looking diary, and opened in on the first page.

_ Rose Lalonde, Age 23. _

For some reason she couldn’t fathom, Roxy’s heart dropped to her feet, through the floor, to the basement, to the very core of the Earth.

Rose Lalonde.

Rose Lalonde, Age 23. That’s how old she was when she mysteriously disappeared, wasn’t it?

Rose Lalonde.

Age 23.

Rose...

Roxy jolted out of the bed and back to the shelves, looking around, she was sure she had seen...

Photo album.

Right, that was the head of the family, right? He looked like Jane’s grandfather. Those must be the kids she tutored...The young woman from the sketchbook? There were a few pictures of her. Roxy stopped to inspect a space where a picture must’ve been, but it was ripped out. She continued to flip through, sighing heavily, She seemed to prefer to take pictures of others, rather than herself. Of course, that wasn’t the age of selfies. Roxy briefly imagined old timey people trying to take pictures of themselves with those huge ass hulking-

Her heart did the dropping thing again. Roxy looked up at the mirror above the vanity and back at the picture.

No doubts there. Sitting in a grassy meadow, wearing a flower crown, wispy blond hair fluttering in the wind, a small smile on her painted lips. The perfect picture of a beautiful girl.

Roxy flushed all over. That was her ancestor, who actually looked quite like herself. That was wrong and weird and slightly egotistical. She hesitated before returning to the bed, setting the album down next to the diary, both still open.

Rose Lalonde. Roxy picked up the diary, flipping to the first written page. She bit down on her lip as she read.

_It has been a few months since she left._ She? Who was she? Perhaps the young woman in the sketchbook. _I have no reasons to believe she is still alive._ Whoa, there. _I miss her but there is nothing I can do about it. I suppose I will have our memories._

Rose’s handwriting was looped and elegant, written in violet, visible even after fading with age. Roxy’s tongue darted between her lips. December 4th. She chuckled, That was her birthday. She briefly wondered if it was Rose’s as well. Maybe it was fate.

_ The children have been behaving well. Mrs. Dolorosa is distraught, after all, that was her daughter. If there’s anyone taking this worse than I am, it is her. I’ve been taking care of the children in her place. The Colonel doesn’t mind, I think he feels guilty. I didn’t write today, didn’t have the time. The kids threw me a birthday party. _

Roxy grinned.

_ They gifted me this journal as my previous one was almost full. It was very thoughtful of them. _

Roxy continued reading with piqued interest. In fact, her interest was piqued so she didn’t hear Jane bang on the door until she burst in the room, screaming out her name. Roxy jumped in her seat, slamming the diary shut and looking up at her.

“What?!”

“I’ve been calling you for hours.”

Roxy rolled her eyes, much like the pouty child she could be.

“I haven’t even been here that long.”

“It’s 4 PM Roxy. I’ve sent you here to clean two hours ago.”

Jane looked around.

“Did you even do anything?”

Roxy let her head drop slightly, looking at the diary.

“Sorry, Jane. Everything’s really interesting, I’m...Interested.”

Out the corner of her eye, Roxy saw Jane’s expression soften.

“I know. Sorry. Take your time, Ro. Now, come downstairs, we’re going to have cookies and lemonade on the garden.”

Roxy grinned up at her.

“Sweet.”

She hesitated.

“Hey, would...It be okay for me to take some stuff home?”

Jane shrugged.

“Sure. it would go to the trash anyway.”

-

The garden of the house was big and huge and gigantic and was more of a vast extension of grass than a garden proper. The kids (Jane) choose a spot by the old fallen oak. It was a sunny day, the type of day a normal teenager would appreciate. Roxy mostly wished she was back at her house, alone, perhaps continuing to read Rose’s diary. Dirk was chasing Jake around with a licked cookie in some odd display of dominance while Jane looked on with amusement.

Roxy leaned back on the trunk of the fallen oak, sipping on her lemonade. She opened the diary again.

“Oh, did you bring a book from home?”

Roxy looked up at Jane in confusion.

“No, I found this in-” She stopped herself from saying Rose “the room. In the bed actually. It belonged to my ancestor, I think.”

“It doesn’t look like it.”

Roxy paused to look over the diary again. Jane was right. Compared to the sketchbook, this was practically new, though various pages still had that odd water damage.

Like droplets.

Roxy shrugged.

“Maybe it’s just really good quality stuff. I mean, the ink looks pretty faded.”

Jane hummed thoughtfully, before returning her attention to Dirk and Jake.

Roxy continued her reading.

_ The hole by the oak continues to be an excellent hiding place. I’m pretty sure I’m the only person who knows about it. _

Roxy looked around until she found the hole, grinning widely. She returned to the diary.

_ The summer days are here. Now, I don’t want to be a pessimist but I’m not very fond of the summer, and by that I mean I absolutely hate it. _

Roxy chuckled, earning an odd glance from Jane.

_ The kids have been trying to convince me to go with them and Mrs. Dolorosa to the beach. I’ve been trying to avoid the subject as best as I can. Strutting around in a swimsuit, getting sand everywhere and burning isn’t my favorite hobby. I suppose I could at least collect some seashells. _

Roxy sighed quietly, leaning on the trunk. Once again she fell into a deep concentration, to the point where she just smiled and nodded once Jane told her they would go back to the house, but that she was free to stay and read.

Now, the funny thing about Jane is that she had known Roxy for 8 years. She knew when things were a lost cause, and she fully expected her to be completely obsessed with her ancestor for a few days. (Un)fortunately, she didn’t know how right and wrong she was. If she had just asked Roxy to stop bullshitting around and actually clean, if she had just told her she couldn’t take anything home with her, a lot of trouble would’ve been avoided, but then, we wouldn’t have a story.

Thus, Roxy stayed by the old trunk reading.

Until she reached the end, at last.

She stared in confusion at the paragraph, before flicking over to the date. July 8th? That was today wasn’t it? That was...Not long before her alleged date of disappearance.

Roxy felt a deep sorrow hit her core. It was somewhat like when you walk around in the dark and you walk into a door that wasn’t supposed to be closed but also like breaking something you cherished.

Did she die?

Roxy rolled her eyes. That was a dumb question. Of course she was dead. If she didn’t die when she disappeared, she had died years later. Roxy looked up into the sky. Nothing but a few clouds drifting lazily. She looked back at the diary, rereading the last paragraph.

_ It’s very hot today. Very, very hot. I’m reconsidering the beach offer, if only for the cold water. The children are gone on a trip, along with Mrs. Dolorosa. It’s rather lonely. It is one of those rare moments in which I wish I had a friend. _

Roxy reread the last sentence over and over again. She sighed and looked around, before searching around in her pockets. Surely...

At last, she retrieved a pen. A bright pink one, but it wrote well. It was her very favored pen. Roxy pursed her lips. This was just a flight of fancy,  born out of her destructive tendencies. yes, let’s destroy this piece of history for shits and giggles. She took a deep breath.

**_ I could be your friend. _ **

“Roxy, my dad’s driving us back!”

Roxy jumped to her feet, dropping the diary. She cursed out under her breath and leant down to pick it up, only to be left staring at a deep hole, right by the trunk. Right, the diary actually mentioned this, didn’t it. She stuck her hand in, panic flaring up as she realized she couldn't find it. She took her hand out and grasped at her hair. It was unbelievable she couldn’t find it. How did she manage to lose something so important. Once again, she reached around to grasp at the dark, yelling out in triumph as she found her prize. She dusted it off and opened it again, rereading the last paragraph, For the third time that day, Roxy’s heart did somersaults.

**_ I could be your friend. _ **

_ That would be very nice, if I knew who you are, besides someone with a fancy for extravagant colors, that somehow got their hands on my diary. _


End file.
